Illiterate
by Mysteriouslyfatcat
Summary: Kind of Feysand one-shot; modern au. She thought that the peace and quiet she felt resonate throughout the house meant that they were all in bed, gaining the sleep she was losing. She didn't want them hounding her, disturbing her with accusations as to why, in the name of all the gods in the land, she couldn't read.


**Hey! So this one-shot is the product of me trying to get out of my non-writing funk while procrastinating (as such, this is also no doubt riddled with plot holes and poor writing. Oh well). This is my first fanfic for the ACOTAR series, I've previously written a few things for the Throne of Glass series (like** _ **months**_ **ago) and I decided that I would, once again, enter the magical world of fanfiction. That being said, I'm probably (I am) a little rusty. So, bear with me, people.**

 **Now, in this little one-shot, Tamlin's a possessive ass and Feyre's father isn't shown in the best of light. Sorry, not sorry.**

 **All right, Feysand one-shot fluffiness to the max! I'm a sucker for Feysand, I just can't get enough of it. And to think, we all have to wait one month until ACOWAR. May 2** **nd** **.** _ **One whole month.**_ **Speaking of ACOWAR, who else thinks that Elain might become the new High Lady of Spring? I mean, she's a total green thumb and she'll no doubt get powers from the cauldron over nature, and that way she and Lucien can cozy up together in the Spring Court (** _ **yay!**_ **). By the way, did you know that there's an ACOTAR coloring book like the TOG one?**

 **Okay, I'm rambling at this point. Read and review if you want to! Any (constructive) criticism is greatly appreciated, or review to post theories or even just saying hi. We're all trying to improve ourselves here.**

 **Without further ado, please, read and (hopefully) enjoy!**

 **DISCLAIMER:**

 **I AM NOT SARAH J MAAS. INSERT DISCLAIMER**

 **SONGS MENTIONED (THAT ARE NOT MINE):**

 **FUCKABOUT BY DRENGE**

 **LOVE DURING WARTIME BY THE MAIN DRAG**

 **1,000 RUINED HOLIDAYS BY CARLEE REMITZ**

 **LAST SNOWSTORM OF THE YEAR BY HIPPO CAMPUS**

 **POEM MENTIONED (THAT'S NOT MINE):**

 **WINDOW BY CARL SANDBURG**

 ***Feyre***

She thought everyone was asleep. She sat on the huge sofa of Rhys' under the beautiful skylight, displaying December's clear night sky. She thought that the peace and quiet she felt resonate throughout the house meant that they were all in bed, gaining the sleep she was losing. She didn't want them hounding her, disturbing her with accusations as to why, in the name of all the gods in the land, she couldn't read.

"Ssss. Nnnn. Sssnnn. Oooo. Sssnnooo. W. Www. Sssnnnoooweh. Ssss. Ttt. Sstt. Ooo. Sssttooo. Rrrr. Ssttoorrm."

Words confused her. They were nothing but a scramble of symbols that only meant one thing. That's why she liked painting. Because even though it was a circle, it could mean eternity or boredom or never-ending or fertility. It could mean everything and anything to anyone who bothered to look. The intent of the artist didn't have to echo in the observer.

"Snowstorm."

She bowed her head down against the borrowed computer screen for a moment, trying to memorize the symbols. She knew the sounds. Had just barely learned the alphabet. But she was getting somewhere. She matched the symbols with the one on the keyboard and pressed the enter key. The word, in a bright blue, showed up, along with a few sentences of gibberish beneath it. She didn't really pay attention to what was most likely the definition. She understood what words meant if someone said them aloud. She clicked the little emoticon of a mini microphone.

The lyrics to a random song and a dictionary website were the last things open on the computer, just like the week before, and she had been working on it since two. It was strange that the computer was always on the same sites, but who was she to look a gift horse in the mouth? This was helping her, and far be it beyond her to question it. It was now five in the morning, and she was near-exhausted. But she was on a role, and she couldn't just give up now.

"Snowstorm," the robotic voice said. She pumped her fist silently in victory. Snowstorm. She had pronounced the word correctly, and had _understood_ it as soon as she had uttered the word. A few months ago, she wouldn't have been able to do this. Now, she was reading words like 'snowstorm'. In truth, she should probably have been in bed, sleeping. There was perhaps something about a brain being muddled with sleep loss. She found that she simply didn't care about the logic of the hour. This was the only time she could do this without everyone running around her. Mor had commented on the circles under her eyes and her short temper. Feyre had simply shrugged and glared.

Looking at her work now, she found that she could read the song. She had had to look up nearly every individual noun, however she could pronounce the small words that tied everything together, like 'and' and 'no one'. Nonetheless, 'light' was not spelled how it was said, and 'wrote', with an 'e' at the end was also pronounced different than usual.

There were a lot of things to remember. She couldn't understand how children were supposed to get this if she didn't.

Pathetic, honestly.

 _Children_ could do this. And here she was, working strange hours at a gallery, staying at a friend's house, twenty-one years old, and the biggest achievement for her was that her family, out of some miracle, hadn't died of starvation yet, and that her meager paycheck had, with the extensive help of scholarships, gotten both her sisters into college.

She wasn't even that good of a painter.

But _children_ were better than her. By second grade, most of them could read and write and _understand_. She had been homeschooled. _Schooled_ being disproportionate. She had stayed at home, neglected by a father with an excessive addiction to brandy to cope with the loss of a wife. Perhaps if she had gone to school, if she hadn't been homeschooled, she perhaps would have been ordinary. Her father hadn't been able to pay for another child to go to elementary school and didn't know how, and couldn't bother to learn, to ask for childcare. Instead of socializing, instead of being a _normal_ child, she ran about the forest with no supervision. Come to think of it, her friends were all so much better. Her _sisters_ were so much better than her. They could all read. All in college. All graduates of a high school. They were dancers and trainers and businessmen and she was…

 _Nothing in comparison to them._

A small tear leaked out of her eye, and she sniffled. Grabbing the edge of the blue fuzzy blanket she had wrapped around herself, she wiped a tear out of her eye.

 _But you've read an entire song. And you know what it means. You understand it._

Clicking back to the song lyrics, she tried reading the entire song.

"When we were y-young,

We wanted to die,

But the sound of a drum,

And the words of a child,

Brough-ought dif-fer-ent light,

Now no one can tell,

The win-ter was nice,

But the sum-mmer is hell."

She could read it. And she could understand it. She fist-bumped the air one more time before repeating it.

 ***RHYS***

Rhys stood leaning against the hallway door, smiling to himself as Feyre fist-bumped the air for a second time in the span of two minutes. She had progressed. She could read lyrics with extensive help, but she could still read it. And from the wonder in her voice as she whispered the words aloud, he could tell she understood what she read.

Mor had commented on the dark circles under his eyes and his snappiness, but he had simply smiled when he thought of what, or rather _who,_ he was losing all his sleep for. Rhys would gladly give up a lifetime's worth of sleep just to see Feyre's proud smile. He wanted to help her, every time he walked out to the staircase around two in the morning he pondered on whether she would accept his help. He had thought about it. Thought about _accidently_ walking down to the kitchen under the guise of wanting a midnight snack and _accidently_ seeing her and then offering his help. He knew she wouldn't appreciate it, however, and she was doing so well on her own.

It had cleaved his heart in two when he had first stumbled upon a stuttering Feyre about a month ago, who was trying to figure out how to pronounce the word 'moonlight'. She had then been sitting with a particularly thick book, no doubt one she had pulled off the shelf randomly. She had the first page open, and she had gotten through 'the man danced in the'. He had waited, standing at the top of the stairs just out of sight, the entire hour she sat there with a book full of symbols she hadn't been able to decipher. After one hour, she had gotten five words.

After that, it was the little things he noticed about her illiteracy. They were small things you wouldn't be able to notice had you not known. The way she stared unfocused at a menu card, pointing to the food she wanted instead of saying it. Scrunching her brow when she found out the thing she had pointed to was not what she wanted. But she still ate it, and acted like it was exactly what she wanted. Or the way she didn't text, only called and had all their numbers on a little sheet she carried with her. The others hadn't noticed, not even adept Azriel. He supposed after so many years of acting, she would have to have become a professional.

He had decided to help her. Not noticeably, because he knew how much it would damage her pride if he went in and patronized her. So, he helped her with the little things. The next day, a children's picture book had mysteriously appeared on the shelf. No one, not even Feyre, had questioned how it had gotten there. It was the same way none of them questioned the way he left his laptop out on the kitchen with three tabs open. He knew that she would immediately know whose laptop it was, but she still didn't need to know that he was doing it for her. The next few days were spent, on her part, innocently trying to get a better look every time he typed his password. He typed it slow, just so she would notice, and paused often at each letter and pretended to talk or look at his phone. She had opened his laptop that night and had found lyrics to a song, the actual song open on Spotify, and open. He left headphones nearby so she could listen to the words said. This week, he had only given her the lyrics and . And she was nailing it. Perhaps not timewise, but she was getting better and better with every passing week. She had gone through songs like Fuckabout by Drenge, Love During Wartime by The Main Drag, 1,000 Ruined Holidays by Charlee Remitz, and, the one she had just finished, Last Snowstorm of the Year by Hippo Campus. It took her a week, usually, to completely understand the full text. 1,000 Ruined Holidays had taken her two. She split things into verses and choruses. Usually, it would take her about two nights to figure out one verse, sometimes three if it was particularly hard or drawn-out.

Today though, she had gone through an entire, albeit short, song, and it felt like a victory on both their parts. And he was very proud of her.

He mused for a little bit, watching Feyre's dark blonde hair shimmer in the faint light of the computer. She sat hunched over on the oversized corner sofa under the skylight, a blanket wrapped around her. Her hair was mussed and her raccoon eyes had no doubt darkened due to her attempts at rubbing out the tiredness. Her eyes, eyes filled with twilight steel, entranced him. They couldn't tell you much with a passing glance, but if you took the time to study them, you would see that her emotions flared up when she was passionate, like when she was painting or arguing incessantly with Cassian about MMA fighters.

Breathtaking. Cassian teased him relentlessly whenever he caught Rhys looking a little too long at Feyre. Az often offered a silent smirk, but said nothing, no doubt knowing that Rhys would retaliate with how Azriel made eyes at Mor nonstop. Mor had gushed, telling Rhys what an amazing couple they'd make. Amren would sit back and enjoy the show, sipping red wine the entire way through.

He remembered the day he first met her, remembered the way her eyes shimmered with vacancy as her gaze flitted between the buffet and her self-proclaimed boyfriend. She had seemed so lonely, so out of place. So… unique. And Rhys had a weakness for things that didn't belong anywhere. He had sidled up to her, two shots in hand, and offered her one. She took one look at the alcohol in his hand and cast a rebellious, the first emotion he had seen from her, glance towards the dance floor. She had quickly grabbed the glass, downed it in one go, and leaned back against the wall with her arms crossed.

"Thank you," she had said. Her voice was raspier than he had imagined, no doubt the byproduct of a shitty life.

"There you are. I've been looking for some display of feeling from you," he had purred. The girl, he hadn't known her name back then, had cast him a strange look.

"What do you mean?"

"It takes one façade to see another. How'd you get dragged along to this… party?" His voice had been low, seductive. She had visibly swayed, the alcohol had no doubt having hit her harder than he had intended, and she had slid down the wall, arms still crossed. She had seemed so alone, so out of place, that he couldn't have helped but take a seat on the floor next to her, one leg bent at the knee while the other lay straight.

"See that one?" She had pointed towards the host of the party, a man with long, golden hair that swung as he danced to the beat, rubbing against any decent looking women in the vicinity.

"Ah, the lovely Tam-Tam. I hope you're not his significant other, that would-"

"By the looks of it, he has too many whores already. I don't need to join his harem, despite his constant advances." He had smirked, turning to face her so he could view the steely gray of her eyes.

"Advances?" Rhys had asked innocently. He knew exactly what Tamlin did. When he wanted someone, he didn't stop at no. Gifts, money, affection… he would shower the girls with so much devotion that they would drown in it, become attached to him. He would grow bored after a while. The girl seemed to be one of the few that rebuffed Tamlin. That no doubt make her more desirable.

"By that tone of voice, you know exactly what I mean, prick." Her voice had become lazy, more of a slur.

"Prick? Darling, I'm hurt." He had mocked a gasp and put a hand on his heart. She had rolled her eyes and smirked a bit.

"That still doesn't answer my question. You don't seem to be the type of girl to join him in his merriment."

"Yeah, well, if I had a choice, I'd be long gone by now. But no, apparently, the man doesn't take no for an answer. So here I am, already drunk after a beer and a shot because I'm half-starved and the jackass doesn't want me to eat anymore. Doesn't want me to 'become undesirable'." She had growled the last few sentences. Rhys had taken a good look at her, looked at the t-shirt dress that seemed to big and the skinny legs that stuck out. She had glowered at the dance floor.

Tamlin had taken her rights, her freedom, and locked them away. He was notorious for possessiveness, the beast inside often coming out to guard what he deemed his. Tamlin just didn't see beyond his own nose, not noticing what his so-called protection often did to the girls he tracked. If _he_ felt as though they were okay, then everything was fine; a dangerous quality to be involved with. As well as the tendency to push everything under the rug.

"Be right back, darling. Don't go anywhere," He had stood up quickly, maneuvering his way towards the buffet.

"Where the hell would I go?" She had called after him, resigned not to move any more than necessary. Rhys twisted and twirled between people, moving out of reach from the blonde that had been simpering over him for the past hour. He had grabbed a bread basket before making his way back to the skinny girl who had mesmerized him. Tamlin had watched her like a hawk, often looking over whoever's shoulder to glare at her. No doubt to stop her from doing anything embarrassing, and to make sure she was watching him. Perhaps his goal was to make her jealous with the way he moved against other women. It didn't seem to be working, and Tamlin did look a tad bit irritated, often becoming violent with the women he danced with. Rhys reclaimed his spot next to the girl and offered her the bread. Her eyes had gone as wide as saucers before grabbing at the basket and ripping into a baguette. She had moaned a bit, and he had had to admit that that sound had lingered with him the entire night, and a few weeks afterwards.

"Uh, this is amazing. Ambrosia. I haven't had anything today except a goddamn bowl of fruit this morning." Rhys had swiveled his head to take another good look at her. Alcohol seemed to make her loose-lipped, if she was talking about this with a stranger. She had looked undernourished, and the dark circles under her eyes had still been noticeable, even with the thick layer of makeup she had worn. He didn't think the cosmetics suited her, it was too bright and innocent. Frankly, he didn't believe that she had _wanted_ to paint a mask on herself. Or perhaps had even done it herself.

"Why are you still with him? If he treats you so poorly," he had asked quietly, the rawness in his voice bleeding out. She had given him a joyless smile before answering.

"I owe the fucking bastard. He loaned my father money for my sisters' education and dear old dad couldn't pay it back. So he thinks, hey, why not give up one of his daughters as payment instead? The one that he didn't spend the money on. Never mind that we live in the 21st century and people have rights and shit. So here I am, Tamlin's personal doll, sitting on the floor with someone who might just be the most attractive man I've ever seen. Why are _you_ here?"

"The most attractive man you've ever seen?"

"Don't let it get to your head. I'm drunk, remember?" She had said, nodding her head at the empty shot glass on the floor. Rhys had smirked.

"I've always believed that people are the most honest when they're intoxicated." She had rolled her eyes, then stuck out a hand.

"Feyre," she had offered, looking at him pointedly. Rhys had gazed back at her, at the girl in front of him with steely eyes and skinny legs, and grasped her hand.

"Rhysand. But you can call me Rhys, Feyre darling. All my friends do."

Rhysand looked back at the memory fondly, labelling it the first time he met Feyre, a girl who had started a whole new chapter in his seemingly endless life. He had only seen her a few times after that first meeting before she came to live in his mansion, but Mor had reached out to her more than once. It had been Mor who had pulled Feyre out of Tamlin's deal, spurred on by a past of confinement and grooming. Feyre had been a shell, an empty husk. The thinness he had seen at the party nothing in comparison to what he had seen that day.

Improvement had been made. They had all cared for her, made her smile again as her plate gradually began to fill. He watched as light began to shimmer in her eyes again, and the sarcastic sass found its way into her voice. Feyre became herself again.

 ***Feyre***

She was so engrossed in the text that she almost missed the sound of feet shuffling. _Almost._ Despite the music playing in her ears, the same song that she had just translated, she could hear the distinct sound of footsteps slowly walking. Her heart lurched and she quickly slammed the laptop down on the table before swiveling her head up towards the stairs.

A figure stood nearly just out of sight, his lithe yet deadly form taking up the top of the stairs. Her eyes trailed up to see the midnight-blue hair, and fell back down again to those unmistakable violet eyes. Her heart beat a mile a minute, her cheeks were surely as red as a firetruck. Those fluorescent eyes met her own and she could have died from embarrassment without delay. How much had he heard? Had he heard her stumbling over simple words? Did he know that she couldn't read?

How the hell would she cover up this one?

For his part, Rhys looked just as mortified at being caught. Though he hid it well, she could spot the red tinge on the edge of his cheekbones, covered by his tan skin. His lips parted, as if to say something, but he stopped himself and swallowed.

"I-I was just getting some water." She blinked at his obvious lie. Rhys was an excellent liar, one bred with a type of finesse in his words. His accent, a soft, lulling symphony that could sometimes cut rocks, showed itself as well, another sign that he was caught off guard. He rarely stumbled, rarely let a part of himself out.

But Feyre _knew_ he was lying. She _knew_ he had been watching her. She quickly averted her eyes and sunk back down onto her seat on the sofa, sitting crisscross with her head bowed downwards. Her body was still slightly up tilted to face him, but her arms were crossed and her walls were up. Rhys made no sound as he cautiously strode down the stairs.

"Feyre," he murmured, taking a few long strides to the sofa before kneeling, resting his forearms on the back of the sofa. She lifted her eyes, ripe with shame, to meet his. She was met with an openness and an honesty that she hadn't expected. She felt as though he could read her mind with that earth-shatteringly intense gaze.

"Darling," Rhys whispered. He lifted an arm to cup her cheek, rubbing his thumb over her cheekbone. The gesture was so affectionate, nearly as caring as the small smile, a _real_ smile, he gave her. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. You think you can't read? I just saw you _understand_ a full song. I just heard you say the words aloud. There's no shame in admitting one's flaws. There's shame in not trying to improve those imperfections. And what I see is someone who is _trying with all her might_. But I think she has to remember that Rome wasn't built in a day." She searched his gaze, trying to find an answer to a question she didn't know she was asking.

And suddenly it clicked.

Because how the hell does 'If you give a mouse a cookie' suddenly appear on a bookshelf in a house full of adults?

He had done it for her. He had found one of her many flaws, but had not exploited it like so many others would've, might've.

She blinked a few times before shaking her head and chuckling. Feyre lurched forward, wrapping her arms around the wonderful, amazing man in front of her. He tensed for a millisecond, no doubt from shock, but then slipped his own thick arms around her.

"Thank you," she breathed into his ear and she swore she heard his breath catch. She couldn't express her gratitude in any other way for the man in front of her. It was a type of gratefulness meant for _him_ , because he was the one that deserved it _._ The man who had purposely left his laptop out and put thought into what he did for her. He had helped her, but had done it in such a way where it was really more her that had excelled at her own pace. He had given her the utensils, the base of the project, and she had built it up

Her hands crumpled his midnight blue night shirt and she leaned her head against his. They stayed like that, her leaning over the back of the sofa to envelop him in a hug and him squeezing her back. She was content not to break the moment, but then she involuntarily yawned, her body betraying her wishes.

"Before you go off to dreamland, would you mind… reading for me? Just a small, three-line poem I've had on my mind?" Feyre blinked and hesitated, still self-conscious. But for him, for the schoolboy tone of his voice, she nodded tentatively.

"Which poem?" She asked as Rhys stood up and ambled over to her side of the sofa, lowering himself to the seat beside her while grabbing the computer from its spot on the table. He opened it up, creating that bright artificial light that lit up his face. He immediately searched a word that she recognized as 'window', followed by what she assumed was a named that began with 'Carl'. A small verse showed up, and Rhys tilted the screen towards her.

"Is that it?" She asked, surveying the three-lines that he wanted her to read aloud for him. Rhys nodded, smiling softly as she angled her head towards the screen, lip synchronizing the words before reading aloud. He threw one of his arms around the back of the sofa and she unknowingly shifted towards him, her back touching his chest.

"Night from a…"

"Railroad," Rhys offered.

"Night from a railroad car window

Is a great, dark, soft thing

Broken across with sla-slashes of light."

Feyre breathed out softly, sitting back as she smiled, impressed with herself.

"Window, by Carl Sandburg," Rhys mused before he yawned. Feyre followed suite. They both looked at each other for a few seconds, violet and gray eyes meeting. She rested her head against Rhys' arm, marveling at the velvet wrapped steel that was surprisingly comfortable.

He had to have been uncomfortable, as he shifted them both, scooting towards the chaise lounge at the end of the sofa, pulling Feyre along with him. She mumbled soft words of protest, but ultimately consented to being lugged over towards Rhys. He slipped his hand under her hip to tilt her towards him, her head automatically turning to rest in the place between Rhys' arm and shoulder. She studied his jaw, the rough stubble that he had yet to shave, the defined cheekbones. His gaze was directed toward the skylight above them, a gateway to another world full of stars and darkness and night.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" He murmured, almost reluctantly, as if not to break the comfortable silence that covered them like a blanket.

There was something about the night that made her daring, because there were just some things you couldn't do in the day time. In the comforting lull of the stars and the soothing presence of the moon, Feyre dared to reach a hand up to Rhysand's jaw, tracing the defined edge. Rhys turned his head to look at her, his startling eyes seemingly more vibrant than ever. Like a cat's, they reflected the scarce light the stars offered.

"Yeah. Beautiful," she breathed, her chest rising unsteadily. Her hand still sketched his rough edges, the movement entrancingly soothing. His eyes widened a bit at her actions, yet they still held that caliber of candidness she treasured. Their faces were centimeters apart, the small wall between them, the wall of inaction and immobility, crashed down to the floor, the bricks smashing on the pillow.

"Feyre," Rhys exhaled, and it seemed more like a prayer, more like an oath of devotion. With that oath, with that last brick crumbling, she closed the small gap between them and gently pressed her lips against his.

It wasn't rushing or passionate, wasn't burning or avid, but it was raw, filled with promises and feelings and fumbles. They paused to breathe at the same time, locating themselves back to the present. She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against his. The stars watched over them, twinkling their delight.

Rhys' breaths became rhythmic, and she fell asleep with the feeling of him holding her tight. She snuggled into him, her arms coming to rest on his chest. The last thing she saw before washing away into a dreamless oblivion, was the steady rise and fall of his chest and the quiet shine of the stars outside.

 ***Mor***

It was around eight in the morning when Morrigan bounced out of her room, content to start a new fresh day. Her light steps made no sound against the thick carpet, her feet landing on the exact floorboards that she knew didn't creak. She knew this house well, knew all the nooks and crannies and rafters that she could use to sneak about this house undetected for one purpose, not to rouse Amren in the morning. She thought she was being silent, but apparently, there was no need, for nearly everyone was already up. Cassian's hulking frame took up the entire width of the stairs, his dark hair messy and uneven. Azriel stood a few steps down, leaning against the antiquated railing and they both watched the living room below them. Az and Cass both looked… surprised.

"What is it?" She whispered to Cassian, sensing the silence that hung over them both. Cassian bit his lip and grinned.

"I've never seen something as cute in my entire lifetime. I already took a couple of pictures, but I think we're going to need a whole damn photo album. This precedes cute puppy compilations on YouTube." Mor elbowed her way passed him, before stopping short as the scene unfolded in front of her.

Rhys and Feyre were cuddling up on the chaise below the gorgeous skylight Rhys had put in. Rhys had buried his nose into Feyre's hair, while Feyre had pressed her face to Rhys' chest. Their legs were entangled, the thick fuzzy blanket Mor had bought a couple of weeks ago knotting them together.

"Fifty bucks he proposes next year," she said quietly to Cassian.

"Seventy, he'll propose next Christmas," he replied. Az shook his head but nonetheless offered eighty dollars for Feyre's birthday on the Winter Solstice next year. Cassian's phone buzzed and he opened it and smirked.

"Amren says they'll be on their honeymoon by late august. She's betting one hundred."


End file.
